


Clint Didn't Mean To.

by ThatSoChangeableChick



Series: Hawkeye and Hawkeye [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Gen, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSoChangeableChick/pseuds/ThatSoChangeableChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton returns to Avengers Tower more than a little traumatized. Thankfully he had friends to help him get over his idiocy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Didn't Mean To.

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello, I was bored again, and I like writing these little Hawkeye and Hawkeye ficlets. Hope you enjoy :)

"I cannot un-see what has been seen,” Clint Barton is slouched beneath the entrance of the Avengers Tower's living room. Tony Stark perks up from where he'd been scribbling on a tablet, a glass of amber perched on the arm of the couch. Natasha Romanov's lips tilt into a barely recognized smile, gaze still upon the files littered over her crossed legs.

"Did you fall into that man's sauna again?” she comments lightly. “People do fear what they've never seen before,” she mentions. Tony Stark snorts, crossing his heels on the coffee table. Mouth quirking in what is probably soon to be unflattering words over Clint's person. Except he stops and stares at Hawkeye.

Clint isn't even pouting at her considering his derailed status. “What happened to you? This isn't some cry for attention is it?” Stark pulls a face, “Cause you came to the wrong place.” He shrugs, waving his glass at Natasha, “Or maybe not. I don't know anymore. Is that something you can do? I'm guessing you can,” he takes a gulp of his drink, licking his lips as it burned down.

Her brows do this quirking thing that Tony will never understand its meaning and she swivels her head to the morose Hawkeye, still slouched in the doorway. “Clint,” she calls and the man in question shrugs heavily slouching further. She pats the couch beside her, “Come here,” there is a small smile on her lips.

Clint shuffles, plodding heavily into the comfy sofa and blinks very rapidly. “Okay, you're starting to scare Natasha,” Natasha rolls her eyes at Stark. “No serious, I think I even see some lip biting. What's up buddy?” Stark even sets his glass down and shoots Clint an impatient look. Natasha blinks at Clint once, bright eyes roaming over his face and settling onto her side to watch him.

Hawkeye takes a deep painful breath and winces from an unseen image. “I didn't mean to,” is what he says. Stark lips quirk. “Honestly,” Clint seems traumatized, “I wouldn't, not ever, want to see...what I saw.”

"Double negative,” Natasha comments slyly and fondly.

It is the first time Clint actually begins to engage visually with the duo parked on the couches. He looks pathetic, his fingers flexing in his grip. He even pouts heavily, throwing his head back and glaring tiredly at the high ceiling. “I'm just going to move in here forever, yeah, that should do it,” he mumbles.

Natasha thumps him lightly, “Report Barton. Report.”

He inhales deeply, straightening only to flop over with his elbows perched on his knees. “You know I was supposed to be out for the next few days.” Natasha nods as Tony's attention wanes over to his tablet. “Well, I mean I guess,” he rubs the back of his neck, “Katie was crashing over at my place.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, the tip of her lips giving her away. “Yes?”

"Apparently she's dating someone new-”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, “This is Kate Bishop. She's the female version of you.”

Hawkeye didn't even appear affronted, he just shrugged the words on as compliments. “It's not a dude.” Natasha just blinks at him. Tony only half listening snorts. “They were in my apartment, doing things...” he pauses to gulp loudly. “Things I can't think about because it's Katie-Kate and my couch, and oh god, maybe my bed and they're underage and oh this so goddam awf-”

"Hang on,” Natasha stops him with a pat to his shoulder. “You have a problem with this because they're underage?” she asks incredulously. Clint pulls a face and shrugs with a sound reminiscent of a mating emu. Natasha is half laughing, “You have a problem with that? You? Clint Barton?”

Even Tony snorts, again. Clint glares at him minutely, “Oh shut up. It's not...Not that. Just,” he peeks at Natasha at the corner of his eye with an expression of one preparing for a mighty blow. He gapes unable to release the words. Natasha does not liberate the words, even as it dawns on her his thoughts. She just waits for the train wreck, “I've watched too much porn,” he admits forlornly.

Natasha bestows him a look of smug disapproval, “Didn't I tell you all that porn would rot your brain.” She thumps him harder too, just for good measure. Clint grumbles and rubs his new bruise.

"Wait wait,” Tony seems to be having trouble not bursting into ugly laughter. “Katie, the girl you consider like your own,” he's having way too much fun. “Is sleeping-” Clint winces, “with another gal and your dirty mind instantly recalls all the girl on girl porn you've watched.” Tony laughs like a bastard, leaning back cheerily. “So, do you actually see their faces or is it just-”

Clint slams palms over his ears, face contorted into 'don't you dare, don't you frigging dare'. Instead he growls, “Not cool Stark, not cool.” Stark laughs. Clint's expression fizzles and for a few seconds he seems prepared to fly across the room for retribution but it's halted by a squeeze of his shoulder.

Natasha's head tilts, “That's it?” she questions calmly. Not that he can hear anything but being partially deaf does have it's perks and he can understand from her lips.

Clint blinks rapidly, “That's it?” More blinking ensures, “What do you mean that's it? How? Oh god Katie-Kate,” he buries his head in his palms. Natasha huffs rubbing the line of his shoulders. He lifts his head, “I need a mission.” He stands suddenly, Natasha watches with bemusement as he paces towards the entrance. “A good long mission, preferably with mortal danger, won't be too bad, like a crappy vacation.”

Natasha rests her chin over her crossed arm, across the back of the sofa. “Or we could have hot steamy sex now,” she perfectly deadpanned. Clint blinks, as if uncertain to take this seriously and risk getting laughed at, or to take it as a joke and insult the deadly assassin. “What?” she asks, cause what she said was perfectly normal.

Clint swallows thickly, glancing over at the curious Tony for guidance. The Mechanic provides none. “If you want?” he tries with a wince and knows it was a wrong thing to say. Tony snorts.

Natasha grins, huffing out a laugh and flicking some scarlet locks clinging to her neck. “Or, you could differentiate between the porn industry and real life.” Clint doesn't seem to get the idea. Natasha's grin grows, “A new prospect I'm aware.” Clint sighs, slouching and plodding over back into the seat he'd just vacated.

"You really scared me there for sex- sec,” he lounges onto the couch shaking his head. Natasha sniggers, fingering his collar. Clint just glances at it and figures her nails aren't coated in poison this time.

Natasha exhales, “Look.” A rare sweet smile appears one which is never really that sweet, “Porn is created by straight white dudes. Like you,” she pokes his pulse point, “For you,” she pokes his pulse point harder. “Not much of that content is actually pleasurable for women,” Natasha says as if this is common knowledge and of course Clint doesn't know because he has trouble finding the top of the ketchup bottle. She shrugs easily, “I'm thinking that's why you've been dumped so many times.”

"Burn,” Tony laughs from behind his tablet.

Natasha shrugs absently, “It's an honest possibility.”

"Nah,” Clint eyes her, “Tin Man's got it right. You are brutal,” he shrugs, scratching the back of his hand and conceded absently, “A possibility.” Natasha smiles behind her forearms, as Clint waves that entire conversation under ten feet of concrete. “Aw no,” he mutters thoughtfully.

"Aw no what?” About the sex, duh—oh.

Clint does not remove his gaze from the empty fire place. Stark grins devilishly. Natasha is not even fazed she waves a hand in greeting and cuffs his elbow. Hurt and abused Clint peers over his shoulder, “Can we talk?” he asks bravely.

"Thank god, yes,” Kate Bishop mumbles quickly and nods over her shoulder.

Clint rocks onto his heels, the ache in his knee catching up on him. He's too old for this. “Don't destroy too much of my tower,” Stark calls absently, flickering over his screen. Clint just sighs in an effort not to hurl objects at the Mechanic.

Natasha pats his hip, “Good luck,” she returns to her files as Clint slouches out.

Kate crosses her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter and averting her gaze. Clint heads right to the fridge for a beer. Kate observes this. Clint pops it open and gulps loudly. Kate rolls her eyes, “You walked in on us.” Clint chokes, a dribble of amber drizzling from his lips, he scuffs in away. Kate shoots him a incredulous look. “You going to say something? Not that I'll listen if you're being an a-hole but will you say something?” she raises a brow.

Clint coughs, exhaling and leans against the opposite counter, folding his ankles and arms languidly. Until he rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry. I guess for walking in you and that girl-”

"America, her name's America Chavez. The one and only Miss America,” Katie-in-a-Barrel grins.

Clint sighs, scratching his scalp, “America,” there is a roll to his eyes, as if he can't believe how very patriotic the name sounds. “Just,” he frowns, stubble rustled, “Why in my bed?” he whines out.

Kate snorts, shrugging, “You were out,” she answers dismissively, jolting onto the counter. “Seemed a good idea at the time; better at your place than at my dad's.” Clint swirls his beer, and Kate tilts her head to his level. “I was going to clean everything. You didn't need to walk out like you did.”

"You were half-naked Katie,” he counters, obviously traumatized.

Kate waves a hand dismissively, “Pssh, you didn't see anything. You're over reacting, except you don't over react, you usually under react if any-”

"Thanks,” Clint chides, taking a sip.”

"Welcome,” she replies sweetly and continues, “-anything. So what's the problem? I know you don't have a problem with me and America; and you don't really have a problem with us using your boudoir.” Clint's lips twitched, muttering 'fancy princess' under his breath. Kate smiles faintly, “So what's the problem here Hawkeye?”

The first Hawkeye exhales heavily, rather downtrodden, “Didn't know you categorized me.”

Katie rolls her eyes, chiming, “Don't change the subject.” She tilts her head and Clint just stares at her for full long minute, with an expression of utter defeated reluctance. A bird tweets from somewhere. Kate raises both her eyebrows, in a very 'supreme overlord is waiting' gesture.

Clint shrugs, huffing softly, “Nothing Katie Kate. Just me being an idiot, forgetting people aren't...forget it.” He cuffs everything under a rug, slinking an arm round her shoulders much to her silent dawning of the eyebrow. “Tell me next time and I'll get out your way,” he squeezes her into a short hug, and then gulps down the rest of his beer. “I'm ordering pizza,” Clint announces loudly, “Jarvis,” he calls.

17 years old and Katie can only bestow Clint the look of a woman so fondly exasperated, he would think they'd grown up together. “Yes Mr. Barton?” is the very British, metallic response.

Clint nods, quirking his lips in Kate's direction, “Pizza. I want tomatoes, she'll want mushrooms and sweetcorn,” he jabs a thumb at her in moderate disgust. Kate sighs, rummaging around in the fridge. “Asap Jarvis, thanks,” he trots out the kitchen door and adds absently, “Bill it to Stark.” For once, it seems, he pauses inside the Italian carpeted hallway, and calls back hesitantly. “Kate,” the only sound is the fridge door popping shut, and tries, “I'm heading into the training room.”

Kate pokes her head out the kitchen with a short smile, flicking her hair over her shoulder and strutting red carpet style - which she would be very familiar with - past him. “I'm taking that as an invitation to teach you a few things Hakweye,” She sings, dancing on her heels.

Clint huffs, wonders what he did to deserve this and ignores the quirk of his lips, “Shouldn't I be saying that to you Princess?”

And then once they'd destroyed nearly every single arrow left in Avengers Tower and pierced over a dozen thousand dollar artifacts, the pizza graciously arrived. The duo bickering and sweating, they settled into their ring of broken and shot arrows upon the hard floorboards of the training room. The pizza was good. Katie reserved Clint's apartment for next weekend. All was well; well, it wasn't bad.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback of some kind would be greatly appreciated ;)


End file.
